Harry Potter's Christmas Carol
by Calamur
Summary: A Parody to Charles Dickins' A Christmas Carol with Vernon as Scrooge. Read on for more
1. Chapter 1

Harry's Christmas Carol

Disclaimer: I do not own any character. They all belong to JK Rowling. The plot belongs to Charles Dickens. The interpretation is just mine.

This story is dedicated to the writer of the best parody I have ever read – Madeline Fabray, author of Arthur M. If this story is half as good as that story, I will be a very happy man

Chapter 1: Bah! Humbug

The office was not exactly what someone would call welcoming. The large room was dimly lit, the only source of light being a reading lamp on the wooden desk. The room's colours, which should have been bright and happy to mark the welcoming of Christmas, were in fact dull and matched the hue of the grey, depressing sky outside. The man seated behind the desk, however, didn't care about his surroundings. He was looking over share portfolios and bank statements, reviewing his profits and losses from the previous fiscal year" might work.

The size and features of the room matched the man's personality. He was an extremely large individual with large hands. His eyes were very small and looked completely disproportionate in comparison to his fat nose. He had a thick moustache and almost no neck. He looked to be in his fifties, because of old age or loneliness one could not tell. He was sitting on his chair, looking through a large stack of papers. Nothing in his room looked like he ever celebrated Christmas. It was lonely. He, although he would deny it, was lost.

As he sat signing some more papers, Vernon Dursley began incoherently muttering something about the noise pollution outside. The pen he was using had ink leaking from it onto his fat palms, which had gone onto some of the documents, making his workspace very untidy.

Someone knocked twice at the door, distracting Vernon. "Come in," he growled. The door opened and in came Robert Prewett, Vernon's personal assistant. Prewett was a tall, thin man. He had straw-coloured hair and a bald patch on his head. He had small hands were clasped tightly around some files. He was dressed well, but his clothes looked like they had been darned on several occasions. He had a nervous expression on his face. Vernon looked up and stared at him smugly, knowing that Prewett was scared of him.

Previously, Prewett had been an accountant in some bank, but unfortunately he had lost his job because the bank had closed down due to mysterious reasons a few years ago. After trying several different jobs, he found what he felt was the toughest job so far. Vernon did not pay him well and took his pound-of-flesh out of him because he knew that jobs were difficult to find and that Prewett wouldn't leave him because he would starve in the chilly winter outside.

"Well, Prewett! I haven't got all day, you know," growled Vernon.

"Sorry, sir," mumbled Prewett meekly. "These are the files you wanted."

"Well, put them on the damn desk, man, and get back to work!" bellowed Vernon. "Do you think I pay you to stare at me all day?"

"N…no sir," stuttered Prewett. His legs were trembling and he quickly went up to the desk and handed Vernon the files.

"Now, get out!" said Vernon.

"Yes, sir," said a very frightened Prewett as he scampered to the door. As he opened it, he turned around and asked tentatively, "Sir?"

"WHAT?" yelled Vernon, causing the papers on his desk to fly onto the floor. He glared at Prewett as though he was responsible for the mess.

"Well, sir," began Prewett feebly as he came into the room to pick up the papers, knowing that Vernon Dursley would not do so himself, "tomorrow is Christmas..."

"So?" snarled Vernon, knowing where this was going. Prewett had been working with him for a year and he had asked for a Christmas holiday the previous year, which Vernon very happily had turned down, saying nastily Prewitt would find himself out of a job if he didn't show up.

"I was wondering whether I could have a day off tomorrow," mumbled Prewett.

"I remember us having this conversation last year, Prewett," said Vernon, an ugly grin now spreading across his face. "I warned you of the consequences. Aren't you happy with having one Sunday off in a month? If you aren't, then I can always look for another assistant. Considering that there are many desperate men on the street, looking out for a job, it shouldn't be too difficult. But mind you, hardly anybody wants a PA these days. I am kind enough to give you a job to support your family."

Prewett's heart sank. He knew that something like this would happen. It was the same old story. His feeble salary of 300 pounds a month wasn't enough to support his wife and three children – the youngest of whom was suffering from a primary stage of bone marrow cancer.

"Sir, I am willing to make a compromise," he said.

"A compromise?" asked Vernon, frowning, "This had better be good, Prewett. I have no time for stupid, worthless people like you."

"If I take Christmas day off," began Prewett, "I'll come to work every Sunday of next year."

Vernon stared at Prewett. This was an offer he certainly couldn't refuse. But giving Prewett a day off on Christmas was something he didn't want to do, because seeing Prewett happy wasn't on Vernon's agenda at all. On the other hand, his work would be done sooner the next year and profits for the company would be better – for money was still the only thing that made Vernon happy. His wife had been killed in "mysterious circumstances," according to the post-mortem, and his son had run away because he couldn't bear to live with his father's lifestyle.

"Very well," he said begrudgingly. "But you must be at work on Boxing Day at 7 am."

"Thank you, sir," said Prewett with a weak smile. "Merry Christmas, sir!"

"Now, get out of my sight!" snarled Vernon, as Prewett put the last piece of paper back on the desk.

"Yes, sir!" said Prewett, donning his hat and scampering through the door.

Vernon went back to checking his accounts . He hated this time of year. He hated the colours, the joy, and the fact that families got together and told one another that they would always be by their side, no matter what. It made him sick to his stomach. He would be coming into work tomorrow. He spent most of his time there, anyway. The house on Privet Drive had not been the same after Petunia had died and Dudley had gone. He didn't want to make any time for a social life because it would mean spending money on the other person. He would never spend money on himself. Money, according to him, was his only source of comfort and kept his sanity in check. It was his lifeline and he shuddered at the thought of not having any.

Someone knocked at the door once again.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT, PREWETT?" he bellowed. "I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU GET OUT!"

But it wasn't Robert Prewett. Instead, a man and a woman walked inside. Both of them had very good-natured faces and they each had a box in their hand.

"Well, what do you want?" asked Vernon rudely.

"Good evening, sir," said the man in a strong Irish accent. "I am Seamus Finnigan and this is Lavender Brown," he said pointing to the lady. We are collecting money for the welfare of children who are starving in the cold."

"So, what does that have to do with me?" asked Vernon, looking at both of them with absoloute dislike. Seamus was sandy-haired and had a very kind face, which was annoying to Vernon, while Lavender, good-looking as she was, reminded him of a tart.

"We were wondering if you would contribute for the children, sir," said Lavender.

"You are joking, right?" said Vernon, looking at the lady like she was mad.

"Not at all, sir," said Seamus. "It would be wonderful if you did something for the kids."

"What, and save a bunch of pesky brats from their ultimate doom? They're better off dead," he said.

Seamus and Lavender stood there, shocked, not believing what they were hearing.

"Also," he continued, "the world is extremely over-populated, making it difficult for us to live. These children are a liability to all of us and their deaths wouldn't harm anyone. In fact, people would be grinning at the fact that there are no poverty-stricken areas across the world. Let these kids die. Why are you bothering about them in the first place?"

"Do you have family, sir?" asked Seamus, his fists clinched tight in absoloute fury.

"That's none of your business, boy," snarled Vernon, rising from his chair.

"I think it is," said Lavender. "You sit around in your comfortable chair, signing papers and cheques and think you're smart making all those comments? Well, if you called mental masturbation intellectual, then you're a genius

"Get out," said Vernon in a deadly whisper. "Get out before I throw you out of this window."

Seamus, who was pretty level-headed, pulled Lavender back muttering something into her ear and calming her down. He then turned to Vernon and said, "I hope you have a Merry Christmas, sir. From your behaviour, it would likely be a lonely one, but that's what you would want, isn't it?" Taking Lavender by the arm, he walked out of the room before Vernon came up with a comeback.

As soon as the door closed, the lights in the office went out. Vernon grunted and took a candle out of his drawer. As he lit the candle, the door of his office opened again and the figure of a tall individual stood silhouetted against the gray light of the outer office.

"Who is there?" called Vernon. "I warn you not to play any games with me. I don't like games."

"I'm not playing games, Uncle Vernon," said the voice at the door.

Vernon froze at the voice. In the excitement of the evening, he had forgotten that his painful, freak of a nephew, Harry Potter, traditionally paid him a visit every Christmas Eve. Why he did it, Vernon never understood. After all, he had treated his nephew like dirt, and he never understood why the kid tried to make amends with him. Despite the rude gestures and insults, Potter would never budge an eyelid or show that he was upset.

The lights suddenly came back on and Harry stood smiling at Vernon, who glared back at him. "What?" he growled.

"You know what, Uncle," said Harry. "Would you join us for Christmas lunch tomorrow? It would be fun and I would hope that you could take some time off."

Vernon stared back at his nephew. He stood a good six feet tall. His hair was messy as ever and his glasses were perched over his face, hiding the actual brightness of his emerald green eyes. His body was well-toned and he was wearing good clothes and was holding two bags full of Christmas presents, which Vernon thought was a waste of money.

"What makes you think I would come?" he asked, going back to his work.

"I hope that you do," said Harry. "You're the only living family that I have left. You're related to my mother; not by blood, but there is a relation. I hope we could get to know each other better."

"Now listen up, you freak," said Vernon, his voice rising. "I am no relation to your mother. Petunia made sure I had nothing to do with her, and I'm glad she did. As far as I'm concerned, you're the reason that Petunia is dead and Dudley has left me. Why you're putting on this façade, I will never understand, but I order you to stay out of my life before I do something drastic."

"I'll take that as a no, then?" said Harry, his voice devoid of all emotion.

"Are you some sort of retard? Why do you come here anyway? It's not like I'm inclined to speak with you in a civilised manner."

"It was your wife's last request to me, Uncle," said Harry as he walked out of the office. "Merry Christmas!"

"Bah! Humbug!" said Vernon in disgust.

As he began getting accustomed to the silence of the office once again, Vernon thought of the Christmases he had spent with his family. Now, it seemed like ages since he had done anything fun. He remembered the holidays he, Petunia and Dudley spent together at Majorca, Paris, Venice and other places throughout Europe. On one occasion, they had even spent Christmas and New Year at Disneyworld.

"Now, none of that is ever going to happen again. It is just me and my money," he said, getting back to work.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Ghost of Petunia

As the clock struck nine, Vernon tidied up his desk, picked up his briefcase. He went near the hat stand and took his brown bowler, which his wife had gifted him all those years back. He looked nostalgically at it before donning it.

Coming out of the office, Vernon saw that there wasn't a soul in sight. Even the caretaker had left for the day, leaving a small light near the lift. Vernon was used to this. He was usually the first to enter the building and the last to leave it. Walking up to the elevator, Vernon for the first time in many days began to sense the silence around him. He did have a feeling that someone or something was watching him. He shuddered at the thought when the lift gong struck to open the door.

The silence was broken with the lift music playing 'Jingle Bells.' Vernon groaned, while getting into the lift, wondering why everyone wanted to celebrate this ruddy festival. It was bad enough for carol singers to do a terrible job in the middle of the street, begging for alms, but to install it as the lift music was ridiculous. He reminded himself to call the liftman and fire him. Yes, firing someone on Christmas day. He smiled at the thought.

Coming out of the building, Vernon realised that the night was coldest this year. The sky was a dull black, with a large cloud cover blanketing the stars. There was a hint of the rain. However, the streets were still very busy. Shops remained open. People were walking on the street, wearing bright colours and greeting each other, which drove Vernon sick to his stomach. He looked around to see if there was any clear path he could walk on without getting disturbed by these overenthusiastic freaks, but every nook and corner in his line of vision seemed to be filled. Sighing reluctantly, Vernon shoved his hands into his coat pockets, lowered his hat so that nobody could see his face and began to walk home. Usually, he would take a taxi, but tonight he decided against the idea because he didn't wish to get into anymore Christmas conversations with anyone.

The walk was, as Vernon expected, a pain. People kept on wishing him a Merry Christmas and he wouldn't acknowledge them at all. He looked completely out of place in his grey flannel trousers, beige trench coat and black hat; nothing to signify that he was celebrating Christmas – not even a bag of gifts. As he turned to the familiar settings of Privet Drive, Vernon felt a sense of relief. "Home at last," he thought to himself, as he avoided the brightly lit houses in his lane. It had been a rough day with all those annoying people barging into office and messing with his mind. He figured that if he called it a night early, he wouldn't have to worry so much.

Little did he realise that this night was just the beginning of a lot of things.

As he opened the door and stepped inside, his vision began to slowly get accustomed to the darkness. He decided that the weather was the perfect time to have a bath. He took his coat off and hung it in the closet near the door, turned on the lights, which left his eyes half-open due to the sudden illumination of the room. He stretched himself and went to the bathroom. Turning the tap on for hot water, Vernon was surprised to discover that the water was as cold as ice. "Damn thermostat," he thought to himself and went to see what the matter was. A few wires here and there would be all that was needed to get some piping hot water.

"It's not going to work, Vernon" said a female voice behind him. 

Vernon jumped, spinning around. "Who's there?" he called.

"It's Petunia," was the reply.

"She's dead!" spat Vernon, sweat trickling down his face in absolute fear. His body began to shake and he picked up a pair of scissors near the basin.

"You can't kill someone who is dead, Vernon," said the voice calmly.

"Then show yourself, dammit!" bellowed Vernon.

"Look in the mirror, Vernon," said the voice.

Vernon stared into the mirror, which was inside the bathroom. What he saw made him coil in fear. His hair stood on one end as he looked at the gaunt image inside the mirror. The face was horse-like, with a large neck. Vernon gaped at the image of his deceased wife; fear written all over his face.

"Hello, Vernon," said the ghost of Petunia.

"You're d…d…dead," said Vernon stupidly.

"Indeed, I am," said Petunia, smiling at him.

"Then, why are you haunting me?" he sobbed. "Go back to where you came from."

"I will, Vernon," said Petunia sadly. "As soon as I tell you a few things you have to know."

"About?" snarled Vernon.

"About Harry," replied Petunia.

"What are you going to tell me about that freak of your nephew," growled Vernon. "He is responsible for your death!"

"No, that's where you're strongly mistaken," said Petunia, sighing sadly.

"So, he has brainwashed you with his filthy, freakish lies?" said Vernon, with a bitter laugh. "It's ironical isn't it, Petunia? The same boy you hated while you were alive is suddenly being defended by you."

"I never hated him, Vernon. It was a grudge I held against his mother, which got carried over. Lily was everything I ever wanted to be and she died so suddenly. My guilt over not making peace with her led to a grudge against Harry," said Petunia.

Vernon stated at the ghost of his dead wife, not believing what he was hearing. This was the same woman who made it a point to make his life miserable.

"Why the change of heart, Petunia?" he said.

"Harry saved our life one time, Vernon," said Petunia, quietly. "I made peace with him immediately after that."

"I don't believe you," snapped Vernon.

"Fine," said Petunia. "You will find out yourself this night as to what he actually did. You need to see it yourself. If you aren't convinced, it'll be a pity."

"Why would it be a pity?" said Vernon puzzled.

"Because, Vernon," said Petunia, "tonight is the night, which will either make you or break you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" screamed Vernon, fear written all over his face again.

"I have to leave now. My time is up," said Petunia, smiling at him. "I love you, Vernon and I always will be looking out for you. Remember what I told you and make the wise decision. It's your life at stake here."

"B…b…but," stuttered Vernon.

"Goodbye," said Petunia and the image disappeared, leaving Vernon to look at his reflection, which was sweating profusely and still holding onto the pair of scissors. 


	3. Chapter 3

Vernon was still shaking after the encounter he had with his dead wife. He had always thought the extraordinary was extremely freakish and Harry Potter was the primary reason for that direction of thought. Recalling Petunia's request to patch things up with Harry than live a miserable life, he snorted. He would rather celebrate Christmas than have anything to do with that freak.

Changing his mind about the bath, Vernon got into his pajamas and a thick woolen, purple dressing gown. He went into the bar of his living room and poured himself a large glass of Scotch. As he began sipping the golden coloured liquid, relief and warmth spread over his body. It was a nice feeling, but unfortunately for Vernon, it was momentary.

The lights suddenly went off.

"Oh, bugger!" thought Vernon, getting up and walking up towards the nearest window. Much to his surprise, the neighbours still had the lights, brightly illuminating their front yard.

Puzzled, Vernon went to the fuse box to see what the matter was. Adjusting wires had never been his favourite thing in the world, but no one would be available at this godforsaken hour. Also adding to his woes was the fact that it was Christmas Eve.

"Hello, Vernon," said a voice. "We haven't met since I attended your wedding."

Vernon froze. This was the second time that night where he heard a strange voice. While the first was familiar, he couldn't remember this voice and although the voice of a lady was extremely soothing, it couldn't help, but give him Goosebumps.

"Who is there?" he called trying to pick something; the same way he did for Petunia.

"Put that down, Vernon," said the lady's voice. "You can't use a weapon on someone who is already dead."

"D…d…dead?" stuttered Vernon. "There are no such things as ghosts!" he said, trying to sound braver.

"But you did see Petunia," said the voice with a lot of amusement.

"How do you know Petunia?" he demanded.

"Well, she is my sister. If I didn't know her, who would?"

Vernon spun around. He realised what Petunia meant by this night would be the one that would make or break him. Standing in front of him, in a white satin gown right up to her toes, covering every inch of her body; a complexion that radiated, despite the darkness; flaming red hair flowing down to her back; her emerald green eyes piercing through his body – Lily Evans Potter hadn't changed at all.

"You," exclaimed Vernon. The expression on his face showed fear mingled with fury. The object that he was holding slipped out of his hand and landed with a loud thud on the floor resulting in a loud echo reverberating through the house. "You're the reason that freak is still in my life."

"That 'freak' happens to be my son, Vernon," said Lily coldly.

"Well, you were never there for him, which makes no difference. He would have been a lunatic had you and that loser of a husband been alive," spat Vernon, animatedly moving his hands.

"Well, that 'lunatic' – as you so conveniently call him – is the reason you're still alive, Vernon," said Lily.

"What is that supposed to mean?" yelled Vernon.

"It means exactly what I said," said Lily, smiling at him. "It's so like Harry, isn't it? Saving someone's life and not letting them know."

"I don't believe you," said Vernon.

"Alright, I'll show you," replied Lily.

"Why would I trust anything you show me?" asked Vernon indignantly.

"Because, you've been here before, Vernon," said Lily. "Petunia requested me to come and speak to you. I needn't have, considering what you did to my child as he grew up,"

"What I did to that freak is none of your business, especially as he grew under my roof," screamed Vernon. His face had gone completely purple and his fists were clenched. His face was wet from sweat and tiny droplets were trickling onto his thick moustache, making him resemble an angry bull.

"Say one more thing about Harry and I'll show you what ghosts are capable of doing to mortals," said Lily in a deadly whisper.

All the aggressiveness from Vernon's face suddenly disappeared and he looked as white as a sheet. "Y…y…you dare threaten me? Me, Vernon Dursley? People shudder when they hear my name, and you have the audacity to threaten me? Ghost or not, I'm telling you to get out, now, freak!"

"I'm not leaving until I do what I was sent here to do," said Lily snapping her fingers. Immediately, the background of Number 4 disappeared and Vernon felt himself spinning with great force. He began screaming, but even he couldn't hear himself. Eventually, he landed in a rough clearing right on his buttocks.

OOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Vernon studied the surroundings around him. He had a feeling that he had come here before. The time looked like it was early evening and the house in front of him was illuminated, but not as bright as the other houses in the area. He looked around to see Lily looking at him, with a smile on her face.

"Where am I," said Vernon, clearly frightened now.

"This was where you grew up, Vernon," said Lily. "Why don't you look through the window?"

Vernon took a few paces in front, rubbed his hands on the pane to remove the fog and peered inside. The living room was brightly lit, but there was no sign of a Christmas tree.

"I remember this Christmas," muttered Vernon to himself. "It was just after mother passed away. She died two weeks earlier. It was the worst Christmas ever. Father took to drinking and Marge was out with some friends, since she couldn't celebrate Christmas at home. Father died a few days later of a broken heart and I vowed that I would never celebrate Christmas again. But then, Petunia and Dudley came into my life and I broke that vow. After she died and he left last year, I refuse to acknowledge this day."

"So, being mean and nasty to everyone else is the solution?" asked Lily.

"If you count that freak of a son of yours, then yes," snapped Vernon. He regretted that immediately because he found himself floating upside down a good ten feet above the ground. "Another word, Vernon, and you'll land on your skull," said Lily, as she ignored his cries for help.

"I'll do anything; just put me down," wept Vernon as Lily gently reversed the charm landing him on his feet again.

"Is this what you came to show me," bellowed Vernon. "The reason why I hate Christmas?"

"That and a lot more," said Lily curtly.

Again Vernon felt the swoosh, as Lily and he passed through what seemed like a movie played in super fast-forward mode.

"Now where are we?" demanded Vernon. He was interrupted by a voice.

"Harry, I need help," it said.

"That's Petunia's voice," he muttered in shock. "Why did she go to that f… him for help?" he said, flinching at Lily's look

"Hear and you'll know," she replied.

"What is it Aunt Petunia?" came Harry's voice. Vernon could now see both of them in the living room of what Vernon assumed was Harry's house.

"They can't see you. Don't worry," said Lily.

"I know I've been a horrible aunt to you," she said slowly. "I suppose it was because you were Lily's child and Lily was everything I always dreamt to be,"

Harry stared at his aunt. From what Vernon gathered, the boy didn't expect this at all.

"Harry, that old man told me everything about your world and what you've done to protect it," continued Petunia.

"When did he tell you this," said Harry in shock.

"Last Christmas, while you were at school,"

"Yeah, so?" asked Harry curiously.

"Like I said, I haven't been the best aunt and I am ready to make the ultimate sacrifice to make it up to you," she replied.

"Which is?"

"I know that monster who killed my sister and now is after you will target us. I have a feeling it will be pretty soon,"

Harry shrugged. This was something he was clearly not expecting. "Go on," he said.

"Well, I want to send Vernon and Dudley on holiday; do something to divert their attention. So that, they survive if anything happens to me,"

"I won't let anything happen to you Aunt Petunia," blurted Harry.

Petunia smiled. "You're so much like your mother, Harry. You would make her proud. But I've lived my life in way too much denial. It's time for me to move on. I want you to promise me that you won't come to help that day. Your life is way too important for someone non-magical like me,"

"She used the M word," blurted Vernon.

"Oh shut up and watch, Vernon," snapped Lily as they watched Harry take his aunt's hand in his and said, "I can't do this, Aunt Petunia."

"You have to do it, Harry," she replied. "You know it's a trap they want to set on you. You can't come here, but I want you to promise me something else,"

"Anything," said Harry slowly.

"Please be nice to Vernon and Dudley. I know it's going to be difficult for you, since both of them will treat you the same," she said.

"I'll try, Aunt Petunia," said Harry with a wry smile.

"Will you forgive me, Harry?" she asked.

"With the sacrifice you're making, I'm the one who has to apologise," he replied.

"I shall take your leave then. Good luck to you and take care of yourself, boy," said Petunia.

"I'll try, Aunt Petunia," said Harry. There was a lump in his throat. Sensing it, his aunt pulled him into a one-armed hug and said, "I'm not worth crying for, Harry. Not after all these years."

"Mmmhmm," was all Harry could muster.

"You've grown into a responsible young man, Harry," said his aunt. "I wish you all the happiness in the world."

"Thank you," said Harry.

"And Harry," said Petunia, as she walked out the front door. "Kick his arse in the final battle, won't you?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia and thank you for everything."

OOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"So, Vernon," said Lily. "That is why Harry tolerates you,"

"He's not doing me any charity," said Vernon.

"Well, Petunia made the same request to you," said Lily.

"So, she did, but do you think I'd do something like that?" snapped Vernon.

"I could argue forever, but my time is up," said Lily suddenly. Vernon felt the familiar speed fast forward and suddenly landed back in his living room.

"I bid you farewell, Vernon and hope that you change for the better. It's never too late," said Lily.

"Bah!" said Vernon.

"And do not go to bed, for your night has not begun as yet," said Lily as she slowly disappeared into the night, leaving behind a very dazed-looking Vernon, who wondered what was in store for him. 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: The Spirit of Christmas Past – Albus Dumbledore

Vernon sat on his armchair, trying to drink a glass of brandy. But every time his lips would touch the transparent glass he was holding, he could see Lily's and Petunia's reflection saying "Tonight is the night. Vernon." The thought terrified him, as rivers of sweat poured down his almost red face.

"What does the world have against me?" he yelled. "What am I supposed to do? I've dealt with enough already."

"You can begin by thinking more about the future and what you can do about it, rather than dwelling on the past," came a very serene voice.

Vernon turned around and gasped. In front of him was a man, who Vernon had met once before. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice.

"You," screamed Vernon. "How did you get in?"

"I'm surprised you remember me after all these years, Vernon," said Albus Dumbledore pleasantly.

Vernon certainly did remember. A year before the freak left his house for good, this barmy old man had come inside his house, offered him some freakish drink, which began hovering around Vernon because it wasn't drunk. He glared at the old man remembering that day.

"I did ask you to drink it," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles.

"Shut up," snapped Vernon. "How did you get in?"

"Ghosts come and go as they please, Vernon. I'm sure your wife and sister-in-law made you realise that," said Dumbledore.

"Y…y…you're dead too?" asked Vernon.

"It has been a while," said Dumbledore smiling. "Your nephew unfortunately saw it happen in front of his eyes."

"He probably was responsible for your death," said Vernon rudely. "Like my wife's and his parents'."

"I think, Vernon, that you should see what Harry Potter is all about," said Dumbledore gravely. "Also, we can call on your friend Prewett, although he won't see us."

"What do you have in mind?" asked Vernon.

"Something similar to what Lily did for you. Only this time, you'll be seeing the present," replied Dumbledore gently.

"Not again…," began Vernon, but felt the familiar disappearing act as he was brought in front of, what many would call, a hovel.

"What is this thing?" demanded Vernon.

"I thought I should bring you here first," said Dumbledore. "This is the home of your Personal Assistant Mr. Robert Prewett."

"Why am I here?" snarled Vernon.

"You'll see," replied Dumbledore. "Just wait and watch."

The two of them watched through the window of the hovel. The interiors were in an abject state. Cupboards were dismantled with clothes in a ragged state neatly folded inside. There weren't any dishes in the sink, which despite its clean condition, looked very pitiful. Vernon noticed a small boy limping towards a beautiful woman, who looked to be his mother. Vernon hadn't seen anyone look so lovely. She had auburn hair flowing down to her waist. She was tall and had a very petite frame. The eyes were chocolaty-brown and full of sadness. Vernon had never seen anyone look so hopeless in his life. He felt a weird twinge in his stomach. He felt an emotion he had never experienced before – pity.

If Vernon thought the mother looked sad, the boy looked ten times worse. He was short, deathly pale and extremely thin. He was struggling to walk, but had a fierce determination about him. He moved slowly, taking support of objects around the house and sat next to the woman.

"Don't worry, mum," he said in a consoling voice, confirming Vernon's assumption of the lady being his mother, "it'll be fine."

The woman looked at her son; tears silently flowing down her face, as she pulled him into a hug. "How can you be so confident, Andrew?" she said, as tears went down his shirt.

"You'll see, mum," he said, hugging her tight, and trying to fight the tears that had formed in his eyes.

"I can only pray for a miracle," came the familiar voice of Robert Prewett. Vernon stared at his employee, who looked disheveled and tired. Vernon couldn't help, but smirk at the pity on his assistant's face.

"If only my boss gave me some more money," said Prewett sadly.

"Why don't you ask him, Robert?" asked the lady.

"I've told you time and time again, Amy that he won't give me anymore," snapped Prewett.

"Then why don't you change jobs, Robert? Andrew is dying here and you can't think of taking another job? Why do you want to stay with that Dursley monster?"

"Because, love, I believe that there is heart in that thick, nasty exterior. He has been a piece of crap to me, but I think there is hope for him. If not, he will die sad and lonely, if he doesn't feel that way about himself. I am also saving money for Andrew's operation. We'll do all we can," said Prewett, pulling his wife into an embrace.

"I hope you're right, sweetheart," said Amy.

Vernon looked at the family and looked back at Dumbledore.

"What was that for?" he demanded.

"That was to show you that you still have hope in you," said Dumbledore.

"Who on earth do you think you are to tell me to sort my life out," bellowed Vernon. "I will not have one of your types telling me what to do."

"It's very unfortunate that a grudge over something so petty could make you like this, Vernon," said Dumbledore gravely.

"What grudge? That f…f…fuc…freak of a nephew was responsible for my wife dying. You expect me to be nice to your kind after that?"

"Why hold the grudge against him?" asked Dumbledore gesturing at the Prewett family.

"Because he has nowhere to go, and we both know that," spat Vernon.

"So you take advantage of that; he has a child suffering from cancer and you treat him like dirt?"

"Let the kid die," yelled Vernon. "You think I care?"

"You do care, Vernon," said Dumbledore gently. "You cannot lie to me. It usually doesn't work."

"There are always exceptions," said Vernon stubbornly.

"Suit yourself," said Dumbledore, shrugging.

"I want to leave," said Vernon.

"Alright, I'll take you to the other place you need to visit," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling as he snapped his fingers.

Vernon swore so loudly, but to no avail. His body was transported in front of an enormous mansion. There was a pitch outside the place, which had three tall hoops on either side. Vernon stood agape at the size of the mansion. It was probably bigger than Buckingham Palace. He turned at Dumbledore and said, "Where the hell have you brought me?"

"This," said Dumbledore, with a smile on his face, "is the home of Harry Potter."

Vernon looked at the older man with absolute shock. "He stole it, didn't he?"

"Inherited it is the right term, Vernon," said Dumbledore, chuckling.

"It's not funny, you crackpot old fool," bellowed Vernon. "He has more money than I do."

"He'd give it all to you if you asked, you know," said Dumbledore.

"Rubbish," snapped Vernon. "After what I did to him, he puts on this façade and tries to be nice."

"He genuinely cares, Vernon," said Dumbledore. "Why don't you see for yourself?"

"See what?" asked Vernon, as Dumbledore beckoned him to a window.

Inside, seated at the kitchen was Harry. A woman was sitting besides him and they were holding hands, like they were very much in love. She had vivid, flaming red, worn as a long mane, with brown eyes staring into Harry's eyes. She was freckled and had a short, stocky build – there was almost an unconventional attractiveness about her.

"His wife, Ginny Weasley Potter," said Dumbledore.

"Someone actually married him?" asked Vernon incredulously.

"Indeed, Vernon. And they're expecting their first child soon."

"So, come to the point old man, why am I here?"

"Hear them out," said Dumbledore.

The two of them looked through the window, as Ginny asked Harry, "Sweetie, you need to stop going to your uncle's office."

"How can I do that, Gin?" asked Harry. "I promised Aunt Petunia and I don't plan on going back on my word."

"But he insults you every time, love," said Ginny. "You come home dejected always. It's been going like this for five years."

"I know there is some good in him, babe," said Harry. "I'm not an accomplished leglimens for anything."

"You finally got to learn that," said Ginny snickering. "Remember how terrible you were at it?"

"Oh, shut up, Ginerva," said Harry sticking his tongue out, as his wife smacked his arm. "Call me that again and you'll be on the receiving end of a bat-bogey hex," she said laughing.

"Come here, you," said Harry pulling Ginny onto his lap and the lights suddenly went off the kitchen.

"I think that I'll throw up," said Vernon.

"Well, despite the physical affection shown between Mr. and Mrs. Potter, he too thinks you have a chance to change, Vernon," said Dumbledore.

"It's not going to happen soon," snapped the other man.

"We'll see," said Dumbledore, smiling at him. "I'll take you home now."

As Vernon reached Number 4, Dumbledore said, "Goodbye, Vernon. I think I should warn you to be nice to the next ghost who visits you."

"There is one more?" spat Vernon.

"Yes, your future and he's the man who killed me, so be nice." And with that, Albus Dumbledore disappeared, leaving Vernon looking absolutely mortified.

A/N: The Prewett is the second cousin of Molly Weasley 


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. It belongs to JK Rowling and Charles Dickens. I'm just playing with the characters. **

**A/N: I had planned on finishing this story off last Christmas, but due to several reasons, stopped writing. Thanks to a few authors who loved the story, I'm finishing the story off. After this chapter is the final chapter, which ends, as you know, as a happily ever after**

Vernon slowly opened the front door of Number Four. He was exhausted. Right from the evening, when that loser Prewett asked him for a day off on Christmas Day, things had been going downhill for him. Vernon cursed under his breath as he slowly walked into the dimly lit living room of his house. "Why am I a target?" he thought bitterly to himself, as he went to the bar and opened a large bottle of brandy. Pouring a stiff drink into his glass, he slowly sunk into his favourite leather armchair and stretched his legs onto the footstool and began pondering the events of the evening.

"It's not fair," muttered Vernon to himself. "Everybody is on that freak's side and I'm left all alone. Even Petunia – my Petunia, who hated the site of him – took his side over me. Is there any justice at all?" he yelled flinging the glass into the floor; chards flew in all directions.

"It's very unfair, isn't it, Muggle?" came a sneering voice behind Vernon.

Vernon spun around. He still wasn't used to this sudden entry by these freaks. And what's worse was that they were all, what they called, 'ghosts'. He stared at the transparent figure standing in front of him and felt revolted. The figure was tall, thin had sallow skin, greasy long hair, a hooked nose and bore a very ugly expression like there was a bad smell under his nose. Also, unlike the previous three figures, there was an element of negativity in this figure that scared Vernon some more. He began trembling and the tears in his eyes began mixing with the swat on his face, which made him resemble a bull that had been brutally assaulted.

The figure still didn't budge from his position. He just kept on staring at the beefy man with a contemptuous look on his face, which made Vernon feel very uncomfortable. He tried staring back at the figure to show that he wasn't feeling intimidated, but the figure's cold black eyes were too much for Vernon to handle. He finally looked a way and with a hint of plea in his voice said, "Who are you and why are you doing this to me?"

"Hasn't Potter mentioned me ever to you?" asked the figure surprised. "The way I treated him like everyone else and not like some celebrity? I'm glad that I did; the boy is nothing, but a disgrace to the Magical world,"

Vernon stared at the figure and the first genuine smile appeared on his face. "Finally," he said, "someone, who thinks that freak is a disgrace." He went forward to shake the figure's hand, but a second later stopped dead on his tracks when the figure said, in a deadly whisper, "Try and befriend me and you will regret it. Just because I dislike Potter doesn't mean that I like you. You're a filthy Muggle like my father and I hate the likes of them. So, if you value your life, keep your distance while I speak to you."

And once again, as if the world had slapped him on his face, Vernon Dursley turned into the sullen, sulky and bitter man that he had been all day.

"Now, you will know, Muggle, that my name is Severus Snape. I expect you not to address me at all, but just watch and you will speak only when I give you permission. Is that understood?"

Vernon mumbled something incoherently.

"What was that again, Muggle? Speak up before I turn you into something," said Snape malevolently.

"I mean y…yes," stuttered Vernon who had gone as white as a sheet.

"Good. I think both of us have understood each other. So, it is up to me to show you what your future is; mind you I wouldn't have done it unless Dumbledore insisted. Why he made me do it is beyond me," spat Snape.

Vernon just looked at the figure in front of him. He wondered why someone would be so bitter about something or someone. After all, he thought to himself, for all it's worth and regardless of how much I hate the freak, the rest of the world seems to love him except for this man.

And then, suddenly it hit Vernon. Snape was probably as bitter a human being as he was, but he could not ponder it for long because he felt himself going round and round; a familiar sinking feeling entering his stomach (which began from his neck). The next moment, he and Snape were standing in front of a tombstone.

Vernon expected to see a number of tombstones in the area, but to his surprise, there were only five others along with his. He looked behind him to see where he was and again, he was in front of that freakishly large mansion that belonged to his freak of a nephew. He shuddered, realising who two of the graves belonged to. Slowly, he walked away from the tombstone he was standing in front of, and without giving it a second look, walked to the largest gravestones. Inscribed in gold on the stone was

_James and Lily Potter_

_Wonderful People_

_Great Friends_

_Fantastic Parents_

Vernon stared at the stones. Snape, who was standing besides Vernon, had a look on his face like he was going to throw up. "Wonderful people, my arse," muttered Snape much to the surprise of Vernon.

"What do you have against them?" asked Vernon. Immediately, he wished he hadn't said that because a flash of red light came out of Snape's finger and struck the ground in front of Vernon making him jump.

"I warned you: do not speak, unless you're allowed to," said Snape in a deadly whisper.

Vernon felt like he had soiled his pants.

"Now," hissed Snape, "look at that grave."

He pointed to the grave that Vernon had landed in front of. Slowly, but surely, Vernon walked towards it. What he saw made his hair stand on one end. He felt a horrible pit down his stomach and he began vomiting on the frosty ground. For on the stone, was inscribed

_Vernon Dursley_

_May his soul rest in peace_

"W…what is this?" stuttered Vernon.

"I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO SHUT UP!" bellowed Snape ready to strike Vernon again, but a noise behind him made Snape turn around and the expression on his face changed and if Vernon was not mistaken, the colour just drained off Snape's face.

Harry Potter had come out with his wife and son and walked towards Vernon's grave. Stunned by this, Vernon stared at his nephew and his family, while they went towards the tombstone. And Vernon saw it.

Harry Potter: the very Harry Potter, who had been tortured by him for all those years, knelt down and put two roses in front of the tomb.

"Uncle Vernon," said Harry, as he placed the roses in front of the tomb, "I know you and I never looked eye to eye, but at the end of the day, you did provide me with a roof and I never thanked you for that. Unfortunately, you always hated me for reasons you and I both know of. I hope that wherever you are, you forgive me, just as I have done the same with you."

As Harry slowly walked back into the house, Snape sneered and turned around at Vernon. "How very touching, isn't it, Vernon?

Vernon was at a loss for words. He was dead and he had been buried at the freak's house. How disgusting was that. He felt sick to his stomach.

"It's poetic justice, isn't it, Muggle. You, who hated anything remotely abnormal, are buried in a wizard's house. And not just any wizard; it's the house of your nephew; someone you love to hate," said Snape with amusement.

"SHUT UP!" bellowed Vernon.

Snape's expression changed to a very ugly scowl. "What did you say to me, you filthy Muggle?"

"I said, shut up, you freak," snapped Vernon suddenly feeling brave. "Have you finished with me as yet?"

"Have I finished," said Snape with an odd laugh. "I haven't even started with you, Muggle."

Immediately, Vernon felt that familiar sweep and fell in front of a nice house. Vernon, however, realised that unlike other houses in the neighbourhood, this house was not lit up on Christmas Eve. The front path was very slippery and Vernon had to grip on the railings of the house in case he fell down. He finally reached out to the frame of the nearest windowpane and held onto it tightly and looked inside. He did not like what he saw.

Robert Prewett was sitting on a very comfortable armchair looking very disturbed. Besides him, sat his wife; both had a deadpan expression on their face as if someone had died in that house.

"Damn you, Vernon Dursley," yelled the lady. Her eyes had turned red because of the tears and she looked murderous.

"Dear, it's no point cursing him," said Robert; his voice shaking a bit. "He died this morning of a massive heart attack."

"Well, I hope he rots in hell then," snapped his wife. "I blame him solely for the death of our child, Robert. And I know you do, too."

"Amy, sweetheart, Andrew died last year. I do blame Dursley for it, yes, but now we need to move on, honey. Andrew would not want us to be like this."

"I know, Robert, but he did not even begin to live his life," sobbed Amy hysterically into Robert's arms.

"I know, love," said Robert, as tears silently flowed down his cheeks, as he held his wife, "but you must be brave. We've got each other and we will meet Andrew soon in another world. You and I both know that."

"I'll never forgive that former employer of yours, Robert. You left him at the right time to make a name for yourself," said Amy.

"Honey, Vernon was alone. He will always be alone and unfortunately for him, nobody will have anything nice to say about him. If only he had a heart," said Robert heavily.

"Anyway, good riddance to bad rubbish," said Amy coldly. "The world is better off without him."

**OOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Vernon had heard enough. He turned around to look at Snape who was smirking. He was making Vernon sick.

"Thought that you were Mr Popular, huh?" said Snape chuckling evilly. "You're so wrong, Dursley."

"What about the friends I had? What about my son?" asked Vernon shakily.

"Oh you actually want to see what they're doing and how they actually feel about you?" smirked Snape. "Very well, this is the last vision you'll see and then I'll dump you home,"

There was a flash and Vernon found himself sitting in what looked like a court. A tall man, who looked like he had lost a lot of muscle, was standing in front of the jury. His blonde hair was disheveled and long. He had loads of stubble and was in a need for a shave. There was a tattoo on his right forearm that looked as if it had been inscribed by a dagger. Yet, there was no mistaking those piggy blue eyes. Dudley had always had that look about him. The judge, who was seated at the top of the court, was old and looked extremely strict

"Dudley Dursley, you have been brought to court for armed robbery and possession of heroin. Is that correct?" asked a lawyer.

"Dudley? Possessing drugs? Armed robbery?" stuttered Vernon. "There has to be a mistake. My son's innocent," he bellowed.

"Nobody can hear you, fool," snapped Snape. "This is the future as you see it. Because of you and your stupidity, this is your future. You and only you can change it; hasn't anything you saw tonight made you understand that?"

"Yes, but…" said Vernon weakly.

"You're a bigger fool than I thought," spat Snape. "Typically Muggle, aren't you? Just think that you know everything and nobody else is right."

"Take me home," howled Vernon. "I have failed as a human being. I cannot bear to see anymore. Just end it all. Please!"

Something in that plead made Snape look at Vernon in a particular way. "Am I feeling sorry for him?" thought Snape. "Well, I had better not show it."

"Very well! I was getting tired of you anyway," he said and snapped his fingers and Vernon was in front of his armchair at Number Four.

"Remember, Muggle, you have nobody else, but yourself to blame for what you saw tonight. If you change it, I'll be astounded because I feel you're not capable of changing at all," said Snape. And in a flash, he had vanished.


End file.
